More Musings of a Plantation Princess
by plantationmuscleboy
Summary: As the 16 yr old cousin of the Tarletons, Tricia Lynn is the perfect southern belle. Her charming looks, her snooty attitude, her pampered way of life and her frivolous amusements are plantation perfect. In this daily diary at Belleview Plantation, we find the lovely Tricia Lynn entertaining her cousin Ashton, from her mother's side in all of her privilege glory.


Belleview Plantation, Charleston, South Carolina, Summer 1855...

Adored in the brightest of yellows and spring ruffles, the ever-so-popular Tricia Lynn, daughter of the great planter Ernest Will Tarleton, spread her voluptuous wide skirts all around as the lovely Cousin Ashton from Shadow Oaks plantation went on about Tricia Lynn's latest frock. "I can't decide if I like it", she said with a plantation grin. Daddy had it made on his last trip to 'Nawlins but I declare if it isn't too much for just a day dress. Besides, it's noisy!" she said with a laugh. "Whatever do you mean Tricia Lynn ?", Cousin Ashton politely asked . "It rustles up and down the staircase, in the halls, in the ballroom.. Well I declare, I couldn't sneak up on anyone in this thing". Followed by a burst of laughter from both girls, the sound of young Ernest, her Daddy's 1 year old son from the his second wife, became more prevalent as both ladies glanced down the long marble rotunda on the left wing of the parlor of where they sat. "He's just like Daddy! So fussy sometimes", Tricia Lynn remarked. Cousin Ashton, with no prior knowledge of tending to babies nor little ones, reaches her arms and takes the Little Colonel from his mammy who hands him off while wiping the tears from his sulky eyes. "Heya now honey, you hush that cryin'. Cousin Ashton is heya to ease your pain", followed by a gentle pat on the back.

Moments later, the infant, eyes wide but resting peacefully in the arms of his family friend, begins to fade away in naturally deserved sleep. Suddenly, Cousin Ashton began to wrinkle her nose, catching a whiff of a horrid odor that can only comes from babies. Tricia Lynn, smiling but remorseful, said "Yes he's going to be a little Southern gentleman!". Waving a hand, she calls over the child's mammy who has been standing near by waiting to serve. "Afta' you change him, take him out for a stroll over the grounds" , Tricia ordered, "You wipe him good and find him a pile of cotton to play in when he is ready to play". "The child just loves cotton", she said with a shake of the head. Cousin Ashton agrees, "Well it's a good thing Tricia Lynn since he'll be the king of it one day".

Several minutes later, in the sweet dialect of innocent Southern voices, the conversation begins to route in every direction, from War talk to Tricia Lynn's homestead, Shaded Oaks. "So what do you and the Little Colonel do most days Tricia Lynn?" Cousin Ashton asked as silent colored maids stood silently in the far corners of the parlor. "Pooh... It depends.. Sometimes we ride, sometimes we shop... I don't know.. whatever I feel like doing that day", she responded. Continuing, she added "It does get boring sometimes, with Daddy and his new bride running off to those political parties and socials... I don't worry about him, but I get so bored I could scream! Sometimes it is just me, the baby, and a mansion full of stinky house slaves!" she yelled, carefully glancing out of the tall window behind her to ensure the baby was indeed outside.

By mid-afternoon, both ladies were piled in the white, gold plated trimmed carriage, taking a stroll about the immaculate gardens and fields of Belleview. Parasols held high, the two reflected colorful lily pads in their wide fluffy garments. As they neared Little Colonel and his accompanied mammy, Tricia Lynn took her parasol and poked the back shoulder of Ole' Sam, her family driver. Looking down at the baby, who was now cooing and babbling baby talk, said "Hi pumpkin". Again and again, growing almost cheerfully impatient, the baby finally looked up at to his sister's porcelain skin and smiled. "See to it that he has fresh water as soon as you get back to the house", she commanded the mammy. "Yes'm Mrs. Tricia Lynn", she assured. The carriage continued around the grounds as both ladies enjoyed the sisterhood of the South, the bond that held them together in the first place. Neither storm, or creature, War, or death would part them or this land.

Back at the mansion, both ladies held needles and thread as they worked on colorful mittens for the Little Colonel, as well as a new sweater. Neither lady had perfected the skill, but both enjoyed it when in the company of other belles. "Isn't it grand! The forthcoming Wilkes ball is only two weeks away", Cousin Ashton reminded. "Oh how I wished we could have parties like that one everyday" added Tricia Lynn. Easing out a slight common "sigh", the sound of the afternoon meal bell could be heard from afar. In more proximity, the signs of Dixieland wealth could be seen everywhere that caught the eye. Two house maids, black as chimney coals, stretched out a Confederate flag motionless as the ladies glanced to replicate while they sewed on the sweater's main design. Another servant, Tricia Lynn's timid personal maid Butterlip, entered with a tray and pitcher of freshly squeezed lemonade. "I'z cut the lemons just like you like 'em Miss Tricia Lynn" she squeaked, with a mousy, trembling voice. Presenting a condescending smile, Tricia Lynn told her to rush upstairs and remove any wrinkles from her traveling dress as she may have Ole' Sam take her to the material store and seamstress for a new frock to wear at the upcoming Wilkes' ball. "Why she's an indolent one isn't she" Cousin Ashton noticed. "Why yes. I was thinking the same thing", Tricia Lynn replied. "She has only been my maid for a few weeks. Daddy won her in a poker game at the Beauregard plantation last month and insisted that I take her in". "I declare, she isn't that cut out for personal servitude", she added. "I don't know how much of that darky I can take".

With the eve about to set in, both southern princesses stand to stretch the tightness out of your sweaty, powder white legs and head for the inside of the mansion. Shooing away the two maids holding the flag, the butler casts the door open as Tricia Lynn's enormous frock rustles against the frame...


End file.
